Discoveries
by outtabreath
Summary: Uhura's brain is pushy and Spock's is logical. This is what happens when pushiness, logic and humor meet Star Trek.
1. Cadet

Uhura's brain is pushy and Spock's is logical. This is what happens when pushiness, logic, humor and lust meet Star Trek.

I don't own them; Paramount does. I don't know them; Roddenberry did. This story has been ricocheting around in my head since I saw the movie the second time and I needed to get it out so I can start to focus on more important things; things like eating, sleeping, showering and getting to work and Google imaging Zac Quinto.

I know, I know. It's another First Time/PWP story – and there are many, many, many of these (most of which are much better than this one) - but I wanted to play, too.

As my own amazing friend and Beta is on vacation in Minnesota for another week, this is unbetaed. Please let me know if you find any errors. I am somewhat of a perfectionist.

All Vulcan words are from the Vulcan Language Dictionary (VLD) which can be found online.

The "M" rating isn't for show. There are very sexual scenes ahead. If you are the age that you cannot or should not be reading, please close this now.

**~*~Discoveries by outtabreath~*~**

**Chapter One of Six: **_Cadet_

_If he's not here, if he doesn't answer, I'll leave. That'll be that- the end of this. I will get over this. I will find myself a nice Human male who will use his body to make me forget all about this. Make me forget about the power of logic and intellect and brown eyes. That's the plan Nyota, if he's not here…_

But the door opened and all other thoughts vanished.

Brown eyes.

Brown eyes as placid and unemotional as ever.

But.

There was a spark. It was faint – but it was definitely a spark.

"Cadet?"

That spark helped her find her resolve. "I would like to talk to you." Her voice was strong and calm. "Can I come in?"

He stood very still.

_If he doesn't move aside, I'll leave. Go find that Human guy. Start forgetting..._.

He stepped aside.

She brushed past him, focusing on her feet and the spark she'd seen in his eyes. The door slid shut behind her and she pivoted to face him.

His head was tilted towards her, his face more open than she'd ever seen it. He looked almost…curious.

She was shaking. That surprised and dismayed her. She should be calm and logical; make her arguments and move forward. But she was emotional and tense; wanted to forget about the talking and get right to the not-talking part.

He was patiently waiting, his hands clasped behind his back in his usual stance. How many times had she seen him like this lecturing? How many times had she wanted to leave her seat and go to him, press her lips to his – just to see what he would taste like – how he would react?

_More than you can count, Nyota. You need to do _something_…_

Her brain was certainly being pushy tonight.

She mirrored his stance and took a deep breath, "Commander."

"Spock," he said gently.

The spark was growing clearer. Brighter.

"Spock," she said, finding her feet, finding her courage. "I believe there is something you and I need to discuss."

"That is what you stated when you arrived at my door," he pointed out.

_Do it, Nyota. Don't give up now._

"You and me," she started, waving her hand between their bodies. "I think there is something here."

He looked at the space between their bodies, his eyebrows moving together infinitesimally. "I do not believe I comprehend your meaning."

_Great. Thanks, Brain. _

Out loud, however, she maintained her bravado. "I think that you hold me in high regard."

"You are correct. You are an accomplished student and a brilliant woman"

She was feeling a little woozy. That was practically gushing from Spock. "And…?"

Another minuscule tightening of his forehead muscles, "Did you desire me to give you specific examples of your academic prowess? Are you in need of a letter of reference or similar document? I would have no objections to provide you with one if needed. Please supply me with the name of the person to whom I should address my evaluation."

Maybe this wouldn't be as easy as she had thought it would be. "No, Spock, I do not need a letter of recommendation."

"Then I am not certain what you are asking me to discuss."

"I'm a woman," she said, shocking herself.

"Yes."

"You are a man."

His jaw tightened and the corners of his lips quirked up. "That is also accurate."

"I'll have you know that I've been told I'm pretty, beautiful even – lots and lots of times." She flinched inwardly. _Oh well, too late to not have said the words._

"I have heard many students make that same assessment," he said. His posture was as rigid as ever – was she only imagining that his shoulders had tensed a little?

Probably.

She was definitely not imaging that the quirk was gone and that he looked as close to wary as he probably would ever look.

"And what is your assessment?" she continued. _In for a credit, in for a bar of latinum._

She did not realize that his eyebrow could go quite that far up his forehead. She was surprised that it didn't disappear under his bangs.

"Cadet Uhura…."

_Oh this is bad. Really, really bad. Why did he answer the door? Why? Why? Why? I could be making out with some random guy right now…_

"Empirically, I would agree with the assessment that I have heard voiced by numerous other cadets. However, I would never use descriptive phrases quite as," he paused, "_colorful _as the ones they have employed."

"So you think I'm pretty." What was she? Fifteen? Her mouth was working without assistance from her brain; the very same brain that had pushed her into this – tired of her constant thoughts and musings and fantasies about the very tense Vulcan standing in front of her.

He went more rigid – who could have ever guessed that it was even possible – and said, "I believe that I just made that statement."

She felt her mouth gape open a bit. Spock thought she was pretty, yes, pretty in an empirical way, but pretty nonetheless.

_Brain, maybe you know what you're doing after all._

"Cadet Uhura, did you have any other points you needed to discuss?" His shoulders were definitely tenser.

She took a step closer to him. He stayed still, watching her closely.

"Points. Yes, points," she murmured. All she could see was the tips of the ears that were the third sexiest thing about him. She went up on tiptoe and brushed her fingertips across the points of his ears.

His hands came up quickly and covered hers. "Regulations state..." he began.

She dropped her fingers and took a step back. A small step. "Regulations are there to protect students and teachers from the appearance of favoritism. They are there to prevent people from trading sexual favors for grades.

"I have _earned_ every grade I have ever received. You yourself said that I was brilliant and talented."

"Accomplished," he corrected.

She could feel his breath against her face.

"And _you_ are unfailingly ethical. If anyone ever even thought of asking you to change a grade for them you would have them drummed out of the Academy."

"That is true."

"Additionally, I will be graduating soon. I won't be your student much longer."

_Good points, Nyota. _

_Thanks, Brain!_

"Perhaps we should wait."

Four words spoken in his precise, clipped manner; four words that pushed her right through the last of any doubts or fears.

_If there is a we...if there is a wait..._

This was going to happen and it was going to happen tonight.

"Spock, there is a very serious problem with that plan. Would you like to hear it?"

"I believe you will tell me no matter what my answer is, so I will merely remain silent so you can continue."

Sometimes Spock's idea of silent was to be anything but.

"Thank you. The problem is that I don't know how much longer I can keep myself from jumping on you in the classroom. That would cause a very serious problem, would it not?"

His eyebrows - both of them! - made the bang line this time.

She was pretty impressed with herself.

"I agree that such action would constitute a serious breach of protocol."

"So, let's just say this would prevent such a breach."

"This?" His ears were a little green. The Vulcan version of embarrassment.

"This."

_Okay, Nyota. This is it. Time to jump and hope there's a parachute to catch you before you flatten yourself._

She turned away from him – his heat, his eyes, his breath- and headed down the short hall to his sleeping chamber, deliberately taking off her clothes as she went. She had never wanted something without getting it.

He would be no exception.

She could hear his quiet footsteps following her.

_Mmm. Curiosity killed the Vulcan...or made him really, really lucky._

Naked, she slid into his bed - moving to the side furthest from the door and propped herself up on one elbow to watch him.

"That is my bed," he said.

_That is probably the first inane thing he has ever said in his entire life. Kudos, Nyota!_

"Yes it is, Spock. So, it would seem that if you want to get any sleep tonight, you will need to join me in here."

She waited for him to tell her to leave - for him to call security - for him to physically eject her from his room.

He did not do any of those things. Instead, he said, "Lights." The room went dark.

"Lights at one quarter," she countered.

Light suffused the room and she could see his eyebrows knitted together.

"Being able to see is part of the fun," she explained.

"Fun," he said, like he'd never heard the word before.

"Fun," she nodded.

He stood very still for a long moment.

_You pushed him too far, Nyota. Too fast. Turn of the lights, turn off the lights, turn off the lights..._

He pulled off his shirt and pants and boots and slid into the bed beside her.

She would get those under shorts off of him in due time.

_Thank you Brain, thank you Brain, thank you Brain..._


	2. Commander

_**Disclaimer and warnings in Chapter One.**_

**Chapter Two of Six: **_Commander_

The instant he had answered the door and seen her standing in the hallway, he had known why she had come to his quarters. He had contemplated similar scenarios far more often than was appropriate or proper or logical, but contemplate them he did. Contemplated and dreamed and desired…

Desire.

There were many things he desired: The health and contentment of his parents, a posting on the _Enterprise, _logic, that Starfleet should bring stability to the galaxy, control...the woman reclining beside him in his bed.

For the first time in his life he desired something that was for himself alone – that would benefit no one other than himself.

Logic. Control. Regulations.

In this moment, he did not care about any of it.

All that mattered was her.

He reached his hand out to her face, to feel the contours he had studied during interminable classes and tutorials. He touched her cheek, marveling at how soft her skin was. He skimmed his fingertips along the high arch of her cheekbone and his thumb touched her lips.

She tried to kiss it.

Startled, he pulled back.

She sighed and stilled.

_Continue,_ he thought. _Touch her again._

He returned his fingers to the exploration of her face. Again, his thumb strayed too close to her mouth. This time she covered his pale hand with her brown one.

_I can remove my hand. I am much stronger than she is._

He did not. Instead, he watched as she pressed her lips to the pad of his thumb, nibbled it, sucked it into the warm wetness of her mouth.

His hand began to shake, but she did not let go of him and he allowed it to happen.

Allowed her to release his thumb and press her lips to each of his trembling fingertips – to stroke his palm with the point of her tongue – to trace the skin from his palm back to the pad of his thumb – to take the digit into her mouth once again and worry at it with teeth and tongue – to once again release the finger, pressing a gentle kiss to the pad.

She smiled at him. Her heart rate was accelerated and her skin was flushed, a shade darker than he had ever seen it, but her smile was calm.

"Well?" she queried, almost as if she was requesting his assessment of an assignment.

_I must respond._

"That was…pleasurable."

She laughed and leaned forward, kissing his lips. It seemed as if flames were licking the flesh.

_Illogical._

_But true, too._

She broke the contact and he did not like it. She leaned back and smiled again. "And that?"

"Also pleasurable."

She made a sound much like a giggle – but he swallowed the sound before it was fully born. Pushing his fingers into the strands of her hair, tightening them around the back of her scalp, he pulled her head towards his mouth.

_She is mine._

He allowed himself the luxury of exploring her – of possessing her. Of losing himself in her mouth. Losing himself so completely that, when he was finally able to find the slightest particle of control, it was to find his lean body was covering hers, pressing into her, his hands clutching her skin greedily, his mouth devouring hers.

_What have I done? This is not correct. This is not respectful. I have given myself over to my pleasure and forgotten myself._

_This is a mistake._

_It is illogical._

_It is stupid._

He began to move away from her, readying his apology – his request that she leave his quarters and forgive him for his lack of control.

Her arms were still around his neck, tensing and holding tightly to him. Her eyes were enormous and she was panting.

_She is in shock. I have hurt her._

"Wow! Do that again!" she demanded.

"Cadet…."

"Call me Nyota," she demanded before flinging her head back towards him, pressing her lips to his once again.

He was frozen even as her lips began moving across his. Her breathing was accelerated by ten percent, her heart beating at ninety-five beats per minute and her scent was comprised of a higher concentration of pheromones than usual.

There was no other conclusion to draw. She was excited. Aroused. She was not afraid. She was not hurt.

He had _not_ frightened her. He had _not_ hurt her.

Her fingers tightened in the hair at the nape of his neck and he concluded that she was trying to move him from his current position. She was trying to pull him back down to her body. He allowed his arms to relax and she wriggled against him in a very provocative manner. She made a sound in his mouth that he believed indicated that she was pleased with his movements.

_Control. Control. Control._

Her mouth left his and began to administer nipping kisses along his jaw.

He let his eyes slip closed.

_Control. Control. Control._

She tugged his left earlobe into her mouth and swirled patterns over the skin with her tongue; with her very talented tongue.

He shivered.

_Control. Control. _

She followed the edge of his ear with her tongue up to the tip and there she caressed and stroked.

_Control. _

His fingers tensed in the bed sheet as waves of pleasure – exhilarating, alien, incredible, terrifying – coursed through him. He was in perfect control but also completely out of control.

_Nothing else…there is nothing else…_

After several intoxicating moments, she released his ear and whispered into it. "Let me guess. That was pleasurable."

He was covered in a thin sheen of perspiration and his fingers were numb from clutching at the sheets. He moved his head so he could look into her eyes and immediately understood the wisdom of quarter strength lights.

Not for fun, but because he _needed_ to see her.

"I have never…." he paused because he had almost used the word felt. He collected himself and began anew. "I have never _experienced_ anything like that before."

Her fingers were tangling and untangling in his hair and she raised her eyebrows in what he was certain was meant to be a parody of his facial cues and responses. "Let me tell you something, Spock, you haven't _experienced _anything yet."

She pulled his mouth back to hers.

_Contr…_


	3. Uhura

_**Disclaimer and warnings in Chapter One.**_

**Chapter Three of Six: **_Uhura _

_Amazing, incredible, delicious, addictive._

_Spock, Spock, Spock, Spock._

_Why did I wait so long to do this? I could've been doing this for _three years.

His breathing was ragged and she could feel the thrumming of his heart against her side – right above her hip. He was kissing her back, exploring her mouth with his tongue. He was not as wild and uncontrolled as he had been earlier but he was still enthusiastic. And thorough - very, very thorough. It was astounding.

We_ could've been doing this for three years!_

At the apex of her thighs she could feel cotton-clad hard flesh pressing against her and suddenly just kissing wasn't nearly enough, even though he was really, really good at it. Nope, she wanted to move on from the kissing of the lips and mouths part to the exploration of the bodies part.

She wanted to see him, see all of him – see what he'd been hiding under all those clothes for all those years.

_See _what_ exactly, Nyota?_

Quite honestly, she really wanted to see his penis. It felt pretty impressive as it pressed, throbbing and twitching, against her. She wanted to see if it lived up to her expectations.

_And almost three years of fantasies._

She moved her mouth away from his so she could talk to him. He did not appear to be happy about ending the kiss.

_Don't worry, Spock. You're going to be plenty happy. _

"Can you…."

He tensed.

She bit back a sigh_. Gods this man is high-strung. He definitely needs this so, so, _so_ much more than I do._

"…Move onto your back," she finally finished.

He lifted a single slanted eyebrow and she almost lost her focus and started kissing him again. She shifted and felt the soft cotton and hard flesh pressing against her thigh.

_Penis, Nyota. _Focus!

She pushed gently at his shoulders – _you aren't going to distract _me_ again, Commander_ – and he rolled off of her.

Her body mourned the loss of his weight.

He lay on his back looking at her from the corners of his eyes; his body was rigid, his hands digging into the sheets and mattress. Nyota studied him as she maneuvered her body – _when did my bones turn to jelly?_ – so she could work on getting his stupid underwear off.

He was watching her warily and she wondered what he was thinking. But then the shorts came free and she didn't really care about what he was thinking.

She gazed at the pillar of flesh that sprang free as the shorts went hurtling into some far corner of the room: It was perfectly shaped, perfectly sized and…green. It was not bright green or bilious green, it was a_ pale_ green, but it was _green_.

_What did you expect to happen when green blood races to fill one area of a pale body, Nyota?_

_I guess I should have expected a green penis, Brain._

She looked at it and realized that it was beautiful because it was a part of _him, _the person he was. Desire coursed through her. She wanted to take it in her hand, in her mouth, in her body…

But not yet.

There were other things she wanted to do first.

She positioned her body so it was held above his, her arms and legs tense, in the Yoga position known as The Plank. She tipped her head so she could look down the length of their bodies. The juxtaposition was electrifying: Her body was brown and taut, his pale and lean; hers was comprised of soft curves, his of hard angles; hers was completely feminine, his utterly masculine.

And they were going to join these bodies – discover how they best fit and molded together.

_Wow. _

She studied him, keeping her breathing steady and strong. She could hold this position for over a minute and she was going to take every second to peruse him – to run her eyes over the intriguing swirls and lines of dark hair, the muscles of his chest and stomach, past the tower of flesh waiting for her, down the length of his legs.

He was perfect. Everything about him was perfectly formed: not too small, not too big, not too soft, and not too bulgy. He was just right.

She tipped her head back up and caught him looking down, too. He met her eyes and blinked. She smiled. "You are perfect."

"Perfection is not possible."

"This is lover's talk, Spock, just go with it." Then she relaxed her arms and began to kiss his neck.

Oh, she could spend hours on his neck. Next time - _and there will be a next time_ – she would do that. Lick and caress and adore his neck for eons. Next time.

This time, she had other places to visit.

_Chest first, lower later. _

She kissed each valley and plane of his chest, traced the lines of muscle with her fingertips, twirled her fingers through the springy hair. He sighed and she tipped her head up so she could look at him. He was staring at her fixedly, his eyes dark and hard – full of desire, danger and something she could only describe as pure masculinity.

His eyes.

She could stare at them for hours, and she would. Next time.

This time she had his stomach to kiss and touch, she had a line of dark hair to follow down, she had a green penis to explore.

She had too much to do to get lost in his eyes.

Even if they were the second sexiest thing about him.

She continued on her journey, enjoying how it felt to slip her tongue over his skin and how his muscles tensed in response.

"Nyota," his voice, soft and hard simultaneously, floated down and broke over her as she reached the part of him that most fascinated her.

Most fascinated her at present.

She pushed at his legs so she could settle between them. She wanted him to have an unobstructed view as she engulfed him in her mouth. She wanted to be able to see his eyes and read his face. She wanted to share in the pleasure she was going to give him.

_Because there is going to be lots of pleasure Commander Spock._

_I have a very talented tongue._

She skimmed her fingers up and down the length of him, marveling at the color, at the fact that it felt just like every other penis she had ever touched: Silky skin over rigid tissue – pulsing and wanting in her hand.

She followed the path of her hand with her mouth. His hips powered up off the bed, but she had expected that – had half expected him to climax immediately – and she was able to compensate for his movement, able to keep him firmly encased in her mouth. She laid her hands on his hips and pushed them back to the bed

He said her name again, and this time there was no softness to the syllables. His voice was rough and broken. She eased her mouth back, swirled her tongue around the tip and the ridge, and then plunged down again. This time he wasn't able to form her name – he let out an explosive gasp.

_Good._

His legs were shaking and she could tell that he was trying to remain in control – to slow himself – to temper his response.

She didn't want him to do any of that. She wanted him to let himself go and she was going to use every weapon and skill she possessed to push him beyond control.

_I have a very, very talented tongue._

_And the rest of my mouth is talented, too._

Her fingers and palms joined the party, layering stimuli on top of sensation.

_And my hands are pretty gifted as well._

He made small sounds that were nothing like words, his hands twisted viciously into the sheet, his eyes closed, his lips parted, his body undulated; he was beautiful and graceful even in the throes of passion.

She was very busy for several long and delightful minutes, her mouth and fingers working in perfect harmony to artfully and relentlessly push him inevitably into climax.

As he emptied himself into her mouth, his entire body was suffused with the color green, his hips bowed up off the bed, his legs tightened around her, pressing with bruising force on the outside of her thighs, and she heard the distinctive tear of fabric; he called out something that may have been her name in a voice that was raw and coarse.

She could never have imagined such a response from that cultured throat, from that tightly controlled body.

_Round one to Uhura, Cadet Nyota._


	4. Spock

**Thanks to everyone who has read, reviewed and added this story to their favorites; I appreciate all of it!**

Disclaimer and warnings in Chapter One.

**Chapter Four of Six: **_Spock_

As he rejoined his body and his mind from wherever her mouth and her fingers had sent him, he reached two unassailable conclusions: First, reading about a thing was very different than experiencing a thing; second, in many instances, experiencing a thing was preferable to merely reading about a thing.

This was just such an instance.

He had always possessed a keen interest in the standards and practices of the numerous and varied cultures with which he came into contact; therefore, he studied much more than scientific texts.

He had read Terran erotica. He had read Orion erotica, Andorian and Betazoid erotica. He had read them with the eye of a detached observer and he had used his scientist's mind to quantify the physical reactions they illustrated, the manner in which the beings depicted employed the acts for pleasure and unity.

He had analyzed and categorized the acts, but he had not understood the need for them.

_Until now._

Until now he had not fully understood the exquisite pleasures they described and the sense of belonging that came with touch and sensation….

_That came with Nyota…._

"Spock, are you still conscious?"

He could feel her soft fingers, her talented and accomplished fingers, caressing his face and left ear. He realized that his eyes were closed. He opened them to find her supported by her left elbow, her body pressing into his side.

"Yes, Nyota, I am still conscious."

Her smile increased by three percent but she rolled her eyes; her contradictory responses confused him.

Oblivious to his consternation, she began to speak. "Damn, I guess I'm not as good as I used to be. You should've been in a coma after that."

Her statement led him to conclude that she was both happy and exasperated. It did not make sense; neither did her statement.

"I do not follow your line of reasoning. Did you endeavor to render me insensible?"

She laughed and pressed a kiss to his chest, "Not _insensible_ insensible – but at least unable to form words for a period of time."

"I _was_ unable to form words for a period of time," he noted. "I was unable to vocalize anything other than rudimentary sounds for seven point four minutes."

She nodded decisively. "Good point; however, I do feel the need to improve upon my record."

"Your record?"

"Mmmhmmm," she murmured. "I think I need you to be completely incapable of voluntary movement for several minutes."

"Nyota, why would wish for me to be paralyzed for any length of time?"

She shifted so her body was resting upon his, her hands encircled his face; he found his hands mirroring her actions, resting along the bones of her jaw, brushing her ears. He was amazed by how light she felt to him.

_Is this distortion of immutable physical laws common after the completion of carnal acts?_

"Because that would mean I did a good job of pleasuring you," she replied.

He opened his mouth to pose another query.

_Scientists are not satisfied until they fully understand the _why_ of a thing._

She laid a finger against his lips to prevent him from speaking. "Lover's talk, remember? Just go with it." Then she moved her finger and lowered her mouth to his.

_I will _go with it_…_

She kissed him slowly, sweeping her tongue about his mouth softly.

He found that he enjoyed it.

He could feel the softness of her breasts pressed against the muscles of his chest; the hard nubs of her nipples in the midst of the softness. He could feel the warm wetness between her legs as it pressed against his skin.

He was seized by the desire to touch the remainder of her body, to explore her with his fingers and tongue.

Then her fingers began to brush over his ears; she seemed to be particularly enthralled with the tips.

_Next time I will further my explorations._

He was enjoying hers far too much to divert her.

He allowed his fingers to drift through the strands of her dark hair and down the back of her neck, learning the long lines of it with his fingers. His fingers drifted down so he could caress the muscles of her back. He applied pressure, some ancient intelligence driving him to scratch his nails across her skin.

Her breathing accelerated by ten percent and he could feel an increase in the wetness pressed against his sexual organ. She writhed against him and he felt blood and arousal erupt and flow through his body yet again. His entire body appeared to be fifty-one percent more sensitive than normal; the majority of the arousal was centered at the juncture of his thighs in that organ that he had believed to be satiated and restive.

_Nyota…_

He could feel his penis swell, arousal almost instantly dragging it from flaccidity to tumescence.

She ended the kiss and the exploration of his ears and pushed her head away from his. She met his gaze and raised her eyebrows; a smile that could only be described as wanton developed on her face. He stared at her mouth.

"Wow," she said.

Her breath caressed his face and he could feel tension coil in his stomach; his heart rate and breathing increased.

"Yes. It is most fascinating."

She brushed her wetness against his hardness once again and he dug her nails into her skin. Her breathing accelerated yet again; his arousal intensified.

"Again," he said.

She complied, he countered.

"_Again_." His voice was harsh and demanding; his _body_ was harsh and demanding.

She rotated her hips, tormenting him with her heat; he drew his nails across her shoulder blades in retaliation.

She gasped and pushed up from his chest, holding her body perpendicular to his.

Her pupils were dilated and her skin flushed a deep brown; he could see her carotid artery pulsating furiously below her skin. He found himself looking at her breasts; they were the finest examples of breasts he had ever observed.

Her breath was coming in short pants, but she was still able to speak. "Okay, I think we're ready."

He did not have to ask her for clarification.

"Have you done this before?" she asked.

He met her steady gaze.

He believed that the protocol in situations such as these was to reply in the negative, but he was not certain; his mental faculties appeared to be faltering.

"Yes," he replied. "But it was not like this."

_Vulcans _do not_ lie. _

She continued to brush back and forth, her hips just as talented and accomplished as her mouth and fingers. "No," she whispered, "I don't see how anything in the whole history of the universe could ever be like this, Spock."

_I am inclined to agree. There could be _nothing_ like this._

Then she shifted slightly and slid the hot wet folds of her body down. She moved deliberately, taking his entire penis into her body. When she had encased him to the root, she stopped and stared into his eyes and he saw the rush of emotion sparkling there. She moved his hands to her hips, braced hers upon his chest.

"Ready," she said. It was not a question.

Then she began to move.

_I was wrong. There could be nothing like _this.


	5. Nyota

**Just a little clarification: Certain passages in the preceding chapters may have led my readers into thinking that Uhura is, **_**ahem**_**, a little **_**easy**_**. That is not true. In my mind, she's had experience in, **_**well**_**, the physical arts – but she is not, by any means, like her roommate. Let's just say she possess a little bit of practical experience and a lot of natural talent and ability.**

**I hope that helps!**

**Writing smut is easy. Writing an explanation of that smut is hard.**

**Hope you enjoy….**

_**Disclaimer and warnings in chapter one.**_

**Chapter Five of Six: **_Nyota_

_Gods he's good. Does he _get_ that? He's _good_. Why oh why did I wait so long to do this?_

The nail thing had almost undone her – had almost made her climax before…well, before _this_ – and she had really, really wanted _this_: The feeling of his flesh filling her body.

_This, this, this_.

One of his hands was clutched tightly on her hip, steadying her or grounding him – she wasn't sure which; the other hand was stroking the valley between her breasts, gentle caresses that belied the actions of the rest of him, because the rest of him was crashing into her body.

_Indescribably good._

In all of her vast experience…

_Nyota?_

_All right, all right, the other dozen times I've done this, it's been nothing like this; the other two guys were nothing like him._

And, she realized, nothing and nobody never would be.

His breathing was starting to become erratic – _thank you half-Human male sexual responses_ – which meant that he was close; she had to slow him down – make this last a little longer, teach him what she needed.

She slowed her thrusts and grabbed the hand that had been so busy on her chest and brought his index finger to her mouth to wet it.

His eyes widened and he sucked in a shuddering breath.

_That's very good to know. We'll explore that some more in the future._

She stilled her movements. The hand still on her hip flexed and his forehead furrowed, but he stopped, too.

"Don't worry. I just need to show you something."

He laid very still, his eyes smoldering. He was open to anything…

_Also very good to know…_

She swirled her tongue around his finger; she could feel him inside of her, pulsing in response.

_Okay. Gotta make this snappy._

She eased his finger out of her mouth and guided it to where there bodies were joined. Her hand resting over his, she taught him how to form small, tight circles. He followed her lead, mastering the movement almost immediately – providing her with the sensations she craved.

_Some _of the sensations she craved.

She braced her hands on the sides of his abdomen and began to move her hips again. His fingers kept up their work. She tightened around him and his movements faltered for a fraction of a second as his skin flushed green.

She waited for him to recover, even though it seemed to take forever. When his fingers began to move again, she repeated the movement, this time his fingers kept busy, his breathing increased and the green flush did not fade. Then he levered his hips up at her in a silent plea.

_Happy to oblige. _

She began to undulate and he met her movements with forceful thrusts of his own. His control was gone, she could tell. He was staring at her and she could not look away; his gaze was hypnotic: raw and open, hot and primitive.

She was flooded by indescribable sensations; they were escalating in intensity in fractions of seconds. He began to make the broken sounds again and his thrusts became deeper, erratic. She knew he was on the edge, she had brought him there again and, this time, he had brought her with him.

_We're good at this. We're good with each other. Together we can do _anything_._

Together they shattered the universe.

When she regained use of her limbs she found herself collapsed against his chest.

He was gently stroking her back.

_Hey, _he_ was the one who was supposed to be temporarily paralyzed by ecstasy._

She was shaking as the adrenaline continued to course through her body. She was still vibrating with pleasure.

_Please don't let him tell me_ _how wrong this was…_

She didn't really like talking after sex. She liked cuddling and gentle stroking – maybe some soft kisses or murmured endearments and expressions of delight and gratitude; she did not like talking.

This time she was vehemently opposed to talking because talking might lead to other things. Things like analysis and regret and ejection from his arms, bed and life.

She wanted to stay here, plastered against his chest, and sleep. She didn't want to have to meet his eyes and read the thoughts reflected there.

_How do you know it's going to be bad?_

_Because I have a brain – which, I might add, is what pushed and prodded me into this predicament in the first place._

"Nyota, you are shivering. Do you wish for me to cover you with a sheet or blanket?"

His hands were still stroking her back.

_I can pretend that I'm asleep._

But he would know. He would be able to differentiate her waking heart and respiration rates from her sleeping ones.

_Damn Vulcan superpowers. _

"No, you're keeping me plenty warm," she said into the skin of his chest. Maybe she should start kissing him again – rouse him so he would be too busy pounding into her body to send her home.

"Are you certain? The shivering is quite pronounced."

She burrowed closer, still refusing to look at his face. "Humans don't just shiver because we're cold, Spock. There are lots and lots of reasons we shiver. In anticipation, when we eat something sour or, just thinking out loud here, when we've just had an incredibly intense and satisfying sexual experience."

_And when we're terrified._

He shifted her off his chest and to his side; she moved closer to him, being very careful to keep her face pressed into the slick, hot skin of his bicep. He wouldn't eject her from his room without looking her in the face would he?

_Maybe…._

His fingers brushed her arm. "Yes. I believe I am experiencing a similar physiological reaction."

He wouldn't throw her out with the Vulcan equivalent of endorphins still coursing through his body, would he?

_Best to not find out._

She would keep her face buried into his warm skin until she fell asleep; she was more than happy to wait and deal with this in the morning.

He, however, appeared to be unable to wait until morning or for an hour or for even five minutes; he slid his finger under her chin and applied gentle but inexorable pressure, making her tip her face up and finally meet his eyes.

"Nyota…"

Her stomach clenched and she waited, but he did not continue speaking; instead, he gently stroked her cheeks, eyebrows, nose, lips.

She looked into his eyes; he met her gaze firmly.

She momentarily wished the lights were brighter so she could be sure that what she was seeing was substance, not shadows.

He began to trace her delicate orbital bones and she let her eyes flutter closed. She could feel his fingers drift carefully over her eyelids and eyelashes.

The tension and terror began to fade.

He pressed light kisses to her eyelids, whispered a single word into her skin. "_Ashayam_."

_Beloved._

No, it was not shadows she had seen; his gaze had been truly gentle - tender. He was not going to send her away. She felt the smile wreath her face. He followed the line of it with his fingertip. She reached for him and he slipped into her embrace, holding her tight against his body.

Almost like he didn't want to let her go.

_Happy._

_Tired. _

_Sleepy. _

_Thank you, Brain._

_You're very welcome, Nyota._


	6. The Son of Sarek and Amanda

**Thank you, thank you, thank you. The reviews have been fabulous and I've really enjoyed playing with these characters.**

**Uhura's pushy brain is sleeping, but Spock's logical one is still very much awake. This is what happens when a half-Human/half-Vulcan becomes contemplative post-coitus …**

_**Disclaimer and warnings in chapter one.**_

**Chapter Six of Six: **_The_ _Son of Sarek and Amanda_

He was, first and foremost, a scientist. He believed in the order and reason of the universe. He believed in what could be measured, counted, quantified and analyzed.

He learned through experimentation and observation. He learned through categorization and organization.

He had lived in his parents' home on Vulcan for many years; it was his first laboratory. It was where he learned what it was to be Vulcan and what it was to be Human.

His mother was Human and, therefore, unpredictable. She reacted to things, she yelled, she cried, she laughed. She made sweaters for him and worried over him when he was ill. She would defend him when his schoolmates would taunt him in their efforts to elicit an emotional response from him; and she comforted him the day they succeeded. She had cried the day he left Vulcan for Earth. She told him over and over again that she loved him.

His father was Vulcan and, therefore, predictable. He was measured and calm, his tone and carriage fixed. He would tell his wife that their son should not be defended, that he must learn to temper his responses and actions and behaviors; that was what was expected of a Vulcan, and Spock was a Vulcan. His father had not reacted the day he had chosen to continue his education at Starfleet rather than the _Shi'Oren t'Ek'Tallar T'Khasi_. He had bid him farewell, as implacable as ever, the day Spock had departed for Earth.

His mother was variable, his father never varied.

_Almost never._

Throughout his time on Vulcan, he would, at odd and unexpected moments, enter a room to find his father leaning close to his mother. Spock would observe as his father spoke to his mother in low tones. His mother would respond by turning and smiling at his father; often she would laugh. She would reach up and run her fingers through his hair and his father would lay his palm against her cheek.

When he was younger, he had believed that in those moments a _le-matya _could have entered the house and his parents would not have taken notice.

As he grew older he concluded that did not understand his father's actions; that they were the only illogical choices his father made. His father should not have the need to seek out his wife's caresses: His parents were bond mates, _telik_; that alone should have been sufficient to assure his father of his mother's respect, regard and commitment for him. There was no need for this touching of hair and of faces; the touching of their fingers…_ozh'esta_…should meet all need for physical communion.

He had believed that as firmly as he believed that two plus two would always equal four.

Believed it until the day she sat in the front row of his classroom and raised her hand; believed it until the moment he had heard her speak.

She was one of 256 students in that lecture, one of 9078 students in the Academy.

She was _one_.

He could access that moment in his memory as clearly as when it had first occurred. He could still envisage the sweep of her hair, the color of her skin, the luminosity of her eyes, the tenor of her voice. He could remember her pulse rate and the pattern of her breath.

Observation. Categorization. Analysis.

The fever began later. He could access that moment in his memory as well: A particularly excited Nyota, very human as she argued with him about the translation of a newly discovered Old Andorian text. She had leaned close to him, _as Father had with Mother_, and her breath washed over his face, her hand brushed against his.

She continued along with her argument, oblivious to what that casual contact had stirred within him.

_I began to burn for her._

The fever did not fade, _would_ not fade, even in the face of logic, reason, protocol or meditation.

It had become a part of him, a ceaseless, unprecedented form of _plak'tow. _A never-ending desire that threatened to shred his willpower. He had never experienced anything like it, had never encountered anything that could have prepared him for its onslaught. He was unable to categorize it, he was unable to analyze it, he was unable to distill it into its component parts and he was unable to create a cure.

_Even so, I allowed her to enter my quarters…_

Nyota stirred but did not waken; her hair, which he could only describe as _silken_, brushed across his arm. He touched the strands, felt the gentle warmth of her breath on his skin, felt the heat radiating from her body. She had just given herself to him, had driven him beyond the limits of his control, had pushed his body into pleasure he had never imagined.

And it was not enough: He still desired her touch; he wished to wake her and share those experiences again and again.

He was not sated. He yearned for more. He _still_ burned for her.

And then he understood.

_I _know_ this._

_I _learned_ this._

He had learned it long ago on Vulcan; learned it not in the vast libraries or education pods, but in the dwelling in which he was raised, within the home his parents had created out of their bond.

Human words that his mother had taught him swept over him:_ Unexpected, attachment, belonging._

_Necessary._

His parents gravitated towards one other; they were drawn magnetically into one another's presence. It had been that way since the time they had met and would be so long as they drew breath.

His mother was an illogical Human, but how she had fit into his father's existence, how he had shifted his world for her, how the universe had ordered itself around her presence in his life, was entirely logical.

_Nyota._

He felt the pull of gravity, felt the world moving and shifting, felt the universe reordering itself.

_Me and Nyota._

Entirely_ logical._


End file.
